


Mistaken identity

by m_findlow



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29892477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_findlow/pseuds/m_findlow
Summary: A case of mistaken identity has terrifying consequences.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Kudos: 17
Collections: fic_promptly Fills 2017





	Mistaken identity

Ianto had barely swiped his oyster card before two men appeared out of nowhere, each gripping an elbow and forcefully escorting him out of Piccadilly Station. His initial reaction was to struggle against them, but he didn't know who they were or what they wanted. He did however suspect they weren't here to personally escort him to the UNIT conference he was supposed to be attending.

Outside the bustling station, there was a black unmarked Audi, which the men lead him to. Just before they reached the back doors, he felt both arms pulled behind his back, and the snug feel of plastic cable ties applied around his wrists, binding them together. The door was pulled open and he was shuffled inside between them.

'Target has been apprehended, ma'am,' one man spoke into his earpiece.

Target? That didn't sound good. But why would he be a target for anyone? 'I think there must be some mistake,' he said.

'No mistake,' the other man said, 'and you'll keep your mouth shut.'

Right. That was him told.

Whilst he was sat awkwardly in the back of the car, wishing they'd at least put his seatbelt on for him, they rifled through his pockets, relieving him of his personal effects, comprising his wallet, phone, house keys, and card for his hotel room. He hadn't been carrying a weapon, and was debating now whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

They drove for twenty minutes before he felt the car slink into an underground car park, unable to see anything else out of the blackened windows, before being pulled back out of the car and lead through a doorway into the building itself.

Surprised, he knew exactly where he was. This was Vauxhall Cross, the headquarters for MI6. He'd been here dozens of times, but always in an advisory capacity, never as a prisoner. Maybe that was why he was here now, only that his captors had been a little overzealous.

He was soon disappointed as they lead him to a small room, cutting the cable ties and cuffing him properly, before locking the door behind him.

He had no idea how long they let him sit there on his own, psychologically trying to tear him down before they finally came to interrogate him. He hadn't even had a coffee yet, hoping to pick one up from a cafe he'd haunted during his years living in London, not trusting UNIT to be able to produce anything drinkable when he got there. If they really wanted to torture him, perhaps they should make him drink really bad coffee.

A tall woman with a severe looking face and dark hair tightly pulled back entered the room.

'It's taken us a lot of resources to find you,' she said, placing a file on the desk in front of her.

Really? He thought. Could've looked me up in the phone book.

'Ianto Jones,' she read from the file, which now listed all the details from his personal effects. 'Not very original, Mr Jonas.'

'Jones,' he corrected her. It wasn't that hard a name to remember.

'Yes, we know all about Mr Jones.'

'I don't understand,' he said.

'You've been working on the accent as well.'

'There must be some mistake. I'm not sure why I'm here, but my name is Ianto Jones and I work for Torchwood. You've heard of them, I'm sure.'

'You've done your research well, Mr Jonas.'

'Jones,' he repeated again. 'What research? Who is it you think I am?'

'I don't have time for games, Mr Jonas.'

'Jones,' he said again, 'J, O, N, E, S, Ianto Jones. Fourteen Smithson Road, Grangetown. Take my prints, take my DNA. I'm on file.'

'You're not. Mr Jones' records have been erased. Convient, wouldn't you say?'

Erased? Bloody Jack, he cursed. He gripped the edge of the table, trying not to get frustrated. 'In my wallet, there's a card with a phone number on it. Call it. It'll go direct through to my boss, Captain Jack Harkness, head of the Torchwood Institute. He'll explain to you that you've got the wrong person. Whoever that is.'

'How do I know that calling that number doesn't activate a remote bomb somewhere?'

He wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the suggestion, but she didn't look like the joking type. Far from it. 'It doesn't. Please, just call it.'

'No, I want you to tell me about your latest shipment. Where are you sourcing it, and where is it headed?'

'I don't know anything about a shipment.'

She crossed her arms, leaning back from the desk. 'I admit we lost track of you after the meeting with the Saudis, but I'm sure you haven't been idle whilst you've been hiding out in Cardiff.'

'Please. You've made a mistake.' He was growing nervous. Shipments? Saudis? None of that sounded good. Whoever they thought he was, it didn't seem like he'd be let out of lock up for a long time. 'Just call Jack. Call UNIT. Call the Home Office. Call my sister, for heavens sake! They'll vouch for me.'

The woman snapped her file shut, seemingly now annoyed. 'I'm not in the mood for playing games. Now that we have you in custody, there's not quite so much urgency. A few days of sensory deprivation might make you more willing to cooperate.' She got up and left.

Ianto was left there several more hours before being trundled several floors down and pushed into another room. When the door shut behind him, he was in pitch darkness with not a sound to be heard other than his own breathing. This was bad. Jack must've known he'd gone missing by now. Someone from UNIT would have reported his failure to arrive. But where did he even start to look? No doubt they'd already erased any footage of him being taken from the station. Jack literally had no idea where he was. That was what MI6 did best. Make people disappear.

He stepped across the room until he finally found the corner and slumped down into it, comforted by the notion that he at least knew nothing could come up from behind him out of the darkness. He sat there and waited.

It could have been days, but most likely it was not more than one, since no one had arrived to bring him food or water, and he couldn't remember sleeping, but it might as well have felt like years, when the door finally slipped open. The tall figure in the doorway was invisible, standing in front of the light, casting nothing but a silhouette, but it was a familiar silhouette. There was no mistaking the outline of that coat.

'Jack?' He struggled up to his feet and staggered toward the door.

Jack turned away and barked at someone. 'Get these cuffs off right now! We treat weevils better than you treat people.'

'You found me,' was all he managed, when at last the chafing metal was freed from his cramped wrists.

'Of course I found you. These idiots aren't nearly as good as they think they are. Perhaps if they ever listened to half of what we told them. Then again, if they had, maybe I wouldn't have found you. Not for a while anyway.'

Ianto didn't care who was watching, he just hugged Jack, relieved that the nightmare that had begun to unfold was over.

Upstairs, there was a debrief and formal apology between Jack and whomever was leading the investigation, including the stern woman who'd interrogated him. He stayed outside whilst the discussion raged on, not wanting to get involved. Their apologies didn't count for much, and it wasn't that he was mad or upset, he just didn't want to make a fuss. Someone somewhere was going to get a bollocking, and it may have been an honest mistake. Plus Jack was always better at yelling.

When it was all over, he climbed gratefully into the SUV, and pulled the seatbelt tight. Jack rested a hand on his knee.

'You okay?'

'Fine. What was all that about anyway? I still have no idea.'

'Alberto Jonas. Interpol most wanted. Known arms dealer and friend to all the lovely terrorist groups. He's undergone a makeover recently. Changed his name six times in the last two years and his face just as often.' Jack pulled a photo from his coat photo, handing it across to Ianto.

Ianto was startled. 'But he looks just like me!'

'Looks like you were his latest target for identity theft. A good choice in fairness, you'd be able to cross borders without anyone taking two looks at your passport, and with the right ID, you could pass through any number of government buildings without question. The resemblance is striking. He'd have fooled me at first glance.'

'That's true. But I'd still have my finger prints and DNA. He couldn't fake those. Which would have saved me a lot of trouble if you hadn't deleted them from my file.'

Jack frowned at him. 'I didn't delete your records. Why would I?'

'So, we're saying the real Alberto Jonas, or whoever he is, deleted them?'

'Must have.'

'And he's still out there somewhere, looking like me, with all my credentials?' The thought worried him. If he'd been pulled up and arrested once, what was to say it couldn't happen again. Or that someone else might not come after him, some terrorist group.

'Relax,' Jack said, as if sensing his thoughts. 'I made a call to someone who owes me a favour. Old Alby will be in MI6 hands by the end of the week. Nice thing about knowing an ex bounty hunter. He's tracked down targets hiding halfway across the galaxy. This will be a piece of cake for him.' He looked across at Ianto. 'You seem disappointed. Were you hoping that you were somehow an international super spy?'

'It crossed my mind, but I've decided I'd much rather be plain, boring old me. Torchwood is more than enough excitement for this nobody.'

'You'll never be plain old boring to me. You'll always be somebody.'


End file.
